The council chamber emptied in fragments—pairs of voices slipping into side halls, bootsteps fading along stone, the muted rustle of cloaks. I stayed where I was, palms braced on the black stone table, breathing the last of that room’s charged air. It clung to me like the aftertaste of lightning.
Mireya was the first to break the silence.
“You didn’t flinch,” she said, almost approving. “Not when they named you wolf, not when they named you witch, not even when the third door showed its teeth.”
I met her gaze. “I’ve learned not to flinch when predators circle. It encourages them.”
Her mouth quirked. “Good. Because tonight, they won’t just circle—they’ll test the fences.”
Rourke appeared from the side arch, moving like the quiet was his to carry. “Varian’s men are shifting camp closer
